


Cool

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-13
Updated: 2015-08-13
Packaged: 2018-04-14 11:52:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4563591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bard blurts the things his kids shouldn’t say.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cool

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Found the term “Thranduil’s swag stag” on tumblr and had to write this for the lols. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

It takes longer than expected to get out of the house, as it always does. Sigrid has everything handled, and she assures him over and over that she can take care of everything while he’s gone, but Tilda and Bain keep clinging to him for more hugs and he can’t say no. He isn’t particularly surprised when Thranduil opts to stay outside. It always feels strange to have such handsome royalty in his crumbling stone house, anyway. 

It makes more sense for Thranduil to visit him. It’s easier; Thranduil travels swiftly, has less heed of time, has only one, far older son to leave behind, and his kingdom is stable. But it’s hard for them to get privacy in Bard’s crowded home, and now that Dale’s doing well enough to allow it, he’s looking forward to his short vacation. He’s been to the woodland realm only occasionally, and not yet on Thranduil’s arm. He’s looking forward to the lovely sights and the abundant food and the feel of his beautiful lover warm beneath expensive sheets, with no children for them to be silent from. But he’ll still miss those children, and with great effort, he finally detaches himself long enough to walk to the front door. 

He finds Thranduil on the doorstep, standing tall and proud in his elegant robes, branched crown gleaming in the sunlight. Two guards stand in the alley to flank him, though Bard knows better than most how capable a warrior Thranduil is on his own. The occasional people of Dale that pass by can’t help but stare at him: he’s exotic and gorgeous and everything anyone could want for, and yet he’s _Bard’s_ , and that’s never stopped bringing Bard joy.

Thranduil dons a charming smile. He seduces Bard so easily, and slips his arm loosely around Bard’s back, guiding Bard forward, though it’s Bard’s streets they stroll through. One of Thranduil’s guards comes subtly to relieve him of his luggage, and they march forward like a procession. Bard expects them to go by boat—the fastest route—and so threads his fingers into Thranduil’s for the long walk to the docks. 

They stop in the next square, instead. Two horses stand ready behind Thranduil’s enormous elk, which causes Bard to idly ask, “Oh, we’re taking the swag stag?”

Thranduil’s step falters. Bard stops completely, mouth clamping shut, brain blanking. He can hardly believe he blurted that—a silly remnant of Tilda’s teasing, that Bard promised himself he’d never let slip to his lover. Thranduil stops beside him, dark brows knitting together, flawless face contorted in confusion. It’s possible he’s not even familiar with the term. Bard wouldn’t be, if it weren’t for his children. 

When Bard pointedly says nothing, Thranduil says, “I do not understand.”

There’s an explanation for this. And it’s not a pretty one. Bard means not to answer, but as usual, Thranduil’s intense gaze bores into him, stealing any lie he might dare to utter. He feels compelled to share the truth, and he awkwardly attempts to clarify, “It’s a silly thing the children say.” Thranduil’s face asks the clear question: _why?_ And Bard numbly adds, “I may have... well... I may have let your drinking habits slip to them...”

Frowning deeper, Thranduil asks, “What of my drinking habits?” His voice is almost cold, but it never quite is with Bard, instead genuinely questioning and hard as steel. The fact that his children think Thranduil the party king of the forest isn’t something Bard wants to admit. 

So instead he mutters, “Nothing, nothing. Let’s... let’s just get going.” On _what_ , Bard deliberately doesn’t say. He’s immensely relieved when Thranduil follows. Perhaps he thinks the amount of wine he consumes perfectly fine, and so he doesn’t find any of this suspicious, which is just as well. Perhaps if Bard were half as old as dirt with his children grown up and a long-distance lover, he’d drink all the time, too. 

As is, he’s perfectly happy to let his sober king help him onto their ride. Fortunately, the elk is as strong as its size suggests, and there seems to be no trouble with the two of them riding together. Thranduil settles in front, and Bard sidles tight along his back. While the guards pretend not to notice, Bard twists Thranduil’s long hair and pins it between them so it won’t whip into his face with the wind, and then he wraps his arms around Thranduil’s waist. Thranduil gives the reigns a flick, and the two of them ride off to fun.


End file.
